Day 4
I skipped a village and went south again to Colva (pronounced Colwa), another tourist laden beach, but since I needed Internet and STD (long distance call shops) I chose to spend the day there.
I entered a local barber and waited while a hawk-faced British middle-aged man was being given a trim with an electric hair cutter that has seen better days. The more pauses between cleans and the machine getting stuck, the more the English gentleman lost it a little until finally he said: "Aw this is rubbish, I'll go and get it done somewhere else". With this he put his cap on his half shaven skull and stormed off (without paying). "Paagal tourist" I said (after making sure he was out of earshot) and the barber laughed heartily. Paagal means "crazy".
I opted for the manual haircut + shave + facial massage and refreshed looked for breakfast before going down to the beach itself.
Food of the day: Upma: porrige of selmolina cooked in ghee with onions & herbs. Recipe: fry the Selmolina (solet) in Ghee, add mustard seeds, caraway, Urud Dhal, chopped curry leaves (Karipatha), chopped onions. Add double amount of boiling water to Selmolina. Stir for 2 minutes and add chopped chili, ginger and coriander leaves.
Colva, as locals warned me, is even busier than the beaches I visited yesterday with the majority of vacationers coming from India. The beach is littered and motor boats take tourists for parachute rides and race them on inflatable contraptions at high speeds.
A 30 minute walk south along the beach took me to Benaulim, where I could not resist a coconut pancake.
Benaulim seems more like Arrosim and Majorda, with middle-aged vacationers, mostly from The U.K and the former U.S.S.R. It's hard to believe there are miles and miles and miles of such vacationers with little difference between the beaches.
I used the half hour walk back to Colva to exercise, looping my bag slowly in circles over my head, alternating hands.
Weather here is hot but pleasant. The mornings are cool and most nights too. Although it gets hotter as you travel south. Karnataka, 90km away was already out of the comfort zone.
Back at the house, in the evening, we went to another per-marital ceremony.
Upon arriving at the venue a large van arrived at the same time and 7 noisy European women poured out of the car and proceeded to launch themselves at one of the soon-to-be-husbands, screaming: "Antonio, Antonio". I understood from my hosts that they are from Israel, so I said Shalom and they replied Shalom. I asked them where they were from and one of them said "Tel Avive" with a heavy French accent. Apparently here for the wedding too.
In this ceremony, following a communal prayer at the family house, The Groom(s) sit on the floor while a procession of family members, starting with the parents, bathe the groom's heads with coconut milk from a big bowl on the floor. Much to my surprise, one of the uncles revealed an egg in his hand and promptly cracked it over the groom's head, to shrieks of delight from all family members attending.
This humiliation was repeated for every member in the family (and it's a large one). Apparently the custom requires only one egg but since one of the brothers was caterer, he felt the need to splurge. Much to my chagrin, the French guests got into it and, after cracking an egg themselves, burst into a Hebrew Mazal Tov song. After the ceremony, the continentals were gently ushered to the house, while the family gathered in the huge back yard for a catered dinner.
The sweets, labored for the day before, were served as little cakes of coconut cooked in (you guessed it) Ghee.
Tomorrow is the big day. I only dread the wedding custom of slaughtering a pig.
Day 5 wedding
The morning was free until the wedding and so I went north this time to the next village, Velsao. This is another pristine and almost free of tourists beach. The long beach line, uninterrupted for miles coming from south, ends at Velsao with a curve of the landscape into the sea. Jungle and rocks take over the waterline and to reach the next beach you have to go inland.
I was not invited to the pig slaughter but was picked up for the wedding ceremony, which took place at the local church. The church itself surprised me with its opulence, gold ornate columns and marble. A sophisticated speaker system allowed speakers to talk quietly and be heard clearly in this enormous space. Women in Sari's and men in suits lined the pews. The sermon was given in Hindi but I managed to catch some words in English like "magnet" and "domestic church".
Outside an elderly man approached me and introduced himself as from the side of one of the brides. He asked where I was from and when he learned I was from Israel he asked if I was Jewish. Not to get into a long conversation about my faith I said "yes" and he immediately started to question me about Moses, Abraham and the lineage to Jesus. I tried to accommodate him as much as my knowledge extended. "But muslims not good" he said and it started to sound like a 'spiel'. I said "no matter what the children call themselves, they are still sons to their father". "Yes", he agreed: "only few bad". He paused and after a while he said: "you know I don't go to church and ceremonies. I open the book (sic) and pray to God and after a while my heart opens." "Khula" he says while pointing with both hands to his chest, then extending them to the sides. From his smile and the shine in his eyes I see again that bliss has no religion.
Word of the day: Khula - Open
After sermons, songs and exchanges of vows, a long "wishing line" formed outside and both couples accepted well wishes from each relative. Now It was time for the reception party.
Following the afternoon ceremony at the church the guests gathered again at night at an outdoor celebration hall. White cloth covered each chair, a live band played on stage, waiters carried drinks and kids chased each other in glee. Now this is familiar. It seems that every moment of the party was planned: the emcee welcomed the guests and proceeded to conduct what seemed to be another series of ceremonies: the reception of the bride and groom, the cake cutting, the wedding march, the Master Toast given by a prominent local, words from the groom, another wishing line, this time with the newlyweds seated on golden sofas. All this must by performed while all guests are gathered on the dance floor (only elderly are excused).
Firecrackers and fireworks announce the completion of rituals and at this point some family members take the stage to sing songs they rehearsed in honor of the couple. One such song was Eyal Golan's Ma Asiti performed by one of the brother's wives, who had worked in Israel for several years.
The schedule dictated dancing and a set of accelerating beats got first the older couples to dance slow, then some Gangam Style for the younger guests. Although the buffet was ready all this time no one approached it until with some secret sign, when everyone started to form a line towards the long food table.
Food was mostly Indian, like Palak Paneer, chickpeas in curry, Chiken Tikka and the like, but with several seafood and fish dishes cooked in Goan custom.
At about half pastmidnight, with thanks to the two newlywed couples, we departed. The next morning everyone slept in late, making up for the last two weeks of almost constant preparations.
Day 6 & 7
The wedding was over but the obligations were not. 20 of us from Cansaulim drove to a post-marital visit to one of the bride's family in the town of Quepem.
Before entering, all the visitors, including guests from other places gathered before the house. Only when the grandmother came out with a bowl of burning incense and invited the newlyweds in, were all others allowed in. A ceremony of prayer was performed in the living room, then everyone was invited outside to share a meal. This repeated itself the next day with the second bride's family in Kumta, Karnataka.
Sweet of the day: Lado. Dahl paste mixed with Ghee and sugar into a small ball.
Traveling these distances made each affair a full day's event returning home in the evening.
Returning home from the second visit we stopped at Mirjan to see the medieval Portuguese fort. The ruins reflected a powerful military presence which, at the time, protected the adjacent port and spice trade route. The local ruler in the 16th century was Chennabharadevi, also called the Pepper Queen, due to the large quantities of pepper exported from Mirjan.
Goans do not seem to follow the adage: "Slow drive long life, 2 children one wife" since they mostly drive fast and have many children. My host has 5 brothers while his wife has 8 other siblings.
Correction from the previous post: Konkani is still spoken. The local language is taught in schools, spoken all over Goa and when outsiders come to work here they adopt the local language.
Although Hindi is the formal language of India, hundreds of languages survived from tribal times, each particular to the region and each kept alive by locals.
Day 8
Obligations are over and it's back to normal. The children go back to school while we drove to Margao, the largest city in this area, to run errands and shop at the fish market and fruit market. The tropic produces huge pineapples and small sweet watermelons. The fish market, which opens at 3 in the morning right after the fishermen haul their catches, offers an incredible variety. Large trucks unload ice into crates which are brought into the market and poured over the fish, sharks, crabs and other sea creatures.
More shopping brought us to a very busy enclave of narrow alleys chock full of people, selling, well, everything.
Alcohol is spreading fast in India and more so in Goa, which is mostly Christian. It is a foreign custom and frowned upon, therefore every bar (we're talking hole-in-the-wall type establishments) is very dimly lit, the darkest places where the clientele cannot be seen from outside. Many families have at least one member who has a drinking problem.
After stopping for Samosa and Chai we came back to watch Zee TV, leaf through family albums, walk the dog on the beach and play Monopoly with the kids. Later, one member of the family was chosen to attend the passing of "Our Lady's" shrine to the next house.
I skipped a village and went south again to Colva (pronounced Colwa), another tourist laden beach, but since I needed Internet and STD (long distance call shops) I chose to spend the day there.
I entered a local barber and waited while a hawk-faced British middle-aged man was being given a trim with an electric hair cutter that has seen better days. The more pauses between cleans and the machine getting stuck, the more the English gentleman lost it a little until finally he said: "Aw this is rubbish, I'll go and get it done somewhere else". With this he put his cap on his half shaven skull and stormed off (without paying). "Paagal tourist" I said (after making sure he was out of earshot) and the barber laughed heartily. Paagal means "crazy".
I opted for the manual haircut + shave + facial massage and refreshed looked for breakfast before going down to the beach itself.
Food of the day: Upma: porrige of selmolina cooked in ghee with onions & herbs. Recipe: fry the Selmolina (solet) in Ghee, add mustard seeds, caraway, Urud Dhal, chopped curry leaves (Karipatha), chopped onions. Add double amount of boiling water to Selmolina. Stir for 2 minutes and add chopped chili, ginger and coriander leaves.
Colva, as locals warned me, is even busier than the beaches I visited yesterday with the majority of vacationers coming from India. The beach is littered and motor boats take tourists for parachute rides and race them on inflatable contraptions at high speeds.
A 30 minute walk south along the beach took me to Benaulim, where I could not resist a coconut pancake.
Benaulim seems more like Arrosim and Majorda, with middle-aged vacationers, mostly from The U.K and the former U.S.S.R. It's hard to believe there are miles and miles and miles of such vacationers with little difference between the beaches.
I used the half hour walk back to Colva to exercise, looping my bag slowly in circles over my head, alternating hands.
Weather here is hot but pleasant. The mornings are cool and most nights too. Although it gets hotter as you travel south. Karnataka, 90km away was already out of the comfort zone.
Back at the house, in the evening, we went to another per-marital ceremony.
Upon arriving at the venue a large van arrived at the same time and 7 noisy European women poured out of the car and proceeded to launch themselves at one of the soon-to-be-husbands, screaming: "Antonio, Antonio". I understood from my hosts that they are from Israel, so I said Shalom and they replied Shalom. I asked them where they were from and one of them said "Tel Avive" with a heavy French accent. Apparently here for the wedding too.
In this ceremony, following a communal prayer at the family house, The Groom(s) sit on the floor while a procession of family members, starting with the parents, bathe the groom's heads with coconut milk from a big bowl on the floor. Much to my surprise, one of the uncles revealed an egg in his hand and promptly cracked it over the groom's head, to shrieks of delight from all family members attending.
This humiliation was repeated for every member in the family (and it's a large one). Apparently the custom requires only one egg but since one of the brothers was caterer, he felt the need to splurge. Much to my chagrin, the French guests got into it and, after cracking an egg themselves, burst into a Hebrew Mazal Tov song. After the ceremony, the continentals were gently ushered to the house, while the family gathered in the huge back yard for a catered dinner.
The sweets, labored for the day before, were served as little cakes of coconut cooked in (you guessed it) Ghee.
Tomorrow is the big day. I only dread the wedding custom of slaughtering a pig.
Day 5 wedding
The morning was free until the wedding and so I went north this time to the next village, Velsao. This is another pristine and almost free of tourists beach. The long beach line, uninterrupted for miles coming from south, ends at Velsao with a curve of the landscape into the sea. Jungle and rocks take over the waterline and to reach the next beach you have to go inland.
I was not invited to the pig slaughter but was picked up for the wedding ceremony, which took place at the local church. The church itself surprised me with its opulence, gold ornate columns and marble. A sophisticated speaker system allowed speakers to talk quietly and be heard clearly in this enormous space. Women in Sari's and men in suits lined the pews. The sermon was given in Hindi but I managed to catch some words in English like "magnet" and "domestic church".
Outside an elderly man approached me and introduced himself as from the side of one of the brides. He asked where I was from and when he learned I was from Israel he asked if I was Jewish. Not to get into a long conversation about my faith I said "yes" and he immediately started to question me about Moses, Abraham and the lineage to Jesus. I tried to accommodate him as much as my knowledge extended. "But muslims not good" he said and it started to sound like a 'spiel'. I said "no matter what the children call themselves, they are still sons to their father". "Yes", he agreed: "only few bad". He paused and after a while he said: "you know I don't go to church and ceremonies. I open the book (sic) and pray to God and after a while my heart opens." "Khula" he says while pointing with both hands to his chest, then extending them to the sides. From his smile and the shine in his eyes I see again that bliss has no religion.
Word of the day: Khula - Open
After sermons, songs and exchanges of vows, a long "wishing line" formed outside and both couples accepted well wishes from each relative. Now It was time for the reception party.
Following the afternoon ceremony at the church the guests gathered again at night at an outdoor celebration hall. White cloth covered each chair, a live band played on stage, waiters carried drinks and kids chased each other in glee. Now this is familiar. It seems that every moment of the party was planned: the emcee welcomed the guests and proceeded to conduct what seemed to be another series of ceremonies: the reception of the bride and groom, the cake cutting, the wedding march, the Master Toast given by a prominent local, words from the groom, another wishing line, this time with the newlyweds seated on golden sofas. All this must by performed while all guests are gathered on the dance floor (only elderly are excused).
Firecrackers and fireworks announce the completion of rituals and at this point some family members take the stage to sing songs they rehearsed in honor of the couple. One such song was Eyal Golan's Ma Asiti performed by one of the brother's wives, who had worked in Israel for several years.
The schedule dictated dancing and a set of accelerating beats got first the older couples to dance slow, then some Gangam Style for the younger guests. Although the buffet was ready all this time no one approached it until with some secret sign, when everyone started to form a line towards the long food table.
Food was mostly Indian, like Palak Paneer, chickpeas in curry, Chiken Tikka and the like, but with several seafood and fish dishes cooked in Goan custom.
At about half pastmidnight, with thanks to the two newlywed couples, we departed. The next morning everyone slept in late, making up for the last two weeks of almost constant preparations.
Day 6 & 7
The wedding was over but the obligations were not. 20 of us from Cansaulim drove to a post-marital visit to one of the bride's family in the town of Quepem.
Before entering, all the visitors, including guests from other places gathered before the house. Only when the grandmother came out with a bowl of burning incense and invited the newlyweds in, were all others allowed in. A ceremony of prayer was performed in the living room, then everyone was invited outside to share a meal. This repeated itself the next day with the second bride's family in Kumta, Karnataka.
Sweet of the day: Lado. Dahl paste mixed with Ghee and sugar into a small ball.
Traveling these distances made each affair a full day's event returning home in the evening.
Returning home from the second visit we stopped at Mirjan to see the medieval Portuguese fort. The ruins reflected a powerful military presence which, at the time, protected the adjacent port and spice trade route. The local ruler in the 16th century was Chennabharadevi, also called the Pepper Queen, due to the large quantities of pepper exported from Mirjan.
Goans do not seem to follow the adage: "Slow drive long life, 2 children one wife" since they mostly drive fast and have many children. My host has 5 brothers while his wife has 8 other siblings.
Correction from the previous post: Konkani is still spoken. The local language is taught in schools, spoken all over Goa and when outsiders come to work here they adopt the local language.
Although Hindi is the formal language of India, hundreds of languages survived from tribal times, each particular to the region and each kept alive by locals.
Day 8
Obligations are over and it's back to normal. The children go back to school while we drove to Margao, the largest city in this area, to run errands and shop at the fish market and fruit market. The tropic produces huge pineapples and small sweet watermelons. The fish market, which opens at 3 in the morning right after the fishermen haul their catches, offers an incredible variety. Large trucks unload ice into crates which are brought into the market and poured over the fish, sharks, crabs and other sea creatures.
More shopping brought us to a very busy enclave of narrow alleys chock full of people, selling, well, everything.
Alcohol is spreading fast in India and more so in Goa, which is mostly Christian. It is a foreign custom and frowned upon, therefore every bar (we're talking hole-in-the-wall type establishments) is very dimly lit, the darkest places where the clientele cannot be seen from outside. Many families have at least one member who has a drinking problem.
After stopping for Samosa and Chai we came back to watch Zee TV, leaf through family albums, walk the dog on the beach and play Monopoly with the kids. Later, one member of the family was chosen to attend the passing of "Our Lady's" shrine to the next house.
Wow gabyji never knew you were so well versed in English. Chapeau. See if you can get there high quality spirulina and neem powder/oil/extract. Enjoy the lounge beds and les chaises-longues. Namaste tigga tigga om shanti shabbat shalom xxox
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